


Wallflowers

by ohthislove



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Blossomcest, F/M, Incest, Sibling Incest, Twincest, idk how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25615000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohthislove/pseuds/ohthislove
Summary: There’s something weird going on with the Blossom twins, weirder than usual.orThree times Jughead almost catches them and the one time he does.
Relationships: Cheryl Blossom/Jason Blossom
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	Wallflowers

**Author's Note:**

> idk what this is but i wanted to write something about my favorite twins, so enjoy

The Blossom twins are very good at hiding their relationship from everyone.

They keep to themselves. Sure, Jason has his friends on the football team and Polly Cooper, and Cheryl has her group of River Vixens to terrorize (it’s not like Jason is much better — Jughead would know from experience). But those connections are only shallow and skin deep, the social ties formed out of expectation and popularity and the need for a cover. They have nothing on the relationship between the twins themselves. If you see one Blossom, it’s more than likely the other one isn’t far behind, and every now and then, they’ll exchange a look without speaking like they can communicate with their minds.

Jughead has no clue as to the true nature of their relationship until the day of the football game. He’s there, of course, for the same reason he goes to any other school function: to write for the Blue and Gold. It’s the school’s annual game against their rival the Baxter High Ravens, and as sick of writing about football he is, frankly it’s the only thing keeping the paper from getting cut altogether.

They win by a landslide, which is to be expected with Jason leading the team as their star captain. He watches as Cheryl drops her pom poms to the ground and sprints across the field at a breakneck pace, her red curls bouncing against her back as she runs. Jason is already waiting for her, helmet in hand and a large grin on his face. She launches herself at him, and he catches her swiftly, scooping her up in his arms as if she doesn’t weigh a thing. She wraps her legs around his waist and presses a searing kiss to his cheek. When she pulls away, she’s stained his alabaster skin with crimson, but Jason looks like he couldn’t care less. Jughead vaguely thinks that they don’t really look like siblings in this moment. In fact, if he didn’t know any better, he’d think they were together, more so than any other time he’s seen Jason with Polly.

He lifts his camera from where it dangles by the strap around his neck and snaps a photo, the shutters clicking noisily and the flash temporarily blinding him.

He abandons his spot on the bleachers, the cheering from the crowd fading the more distance he puts between himself and them. He plans to take some shots of the team celebrating in the locker room after the game with Coach Clayton, but when he yanks the door open, the room is empty. The lockers are all cleared out for the night, some of them cracked ajar. It looks like he’s just missed them.

He’s just about to turn and leave when a voice rings out in the silence, “Cheryl, you can’t be in here.”

He freezes in the doorway, his hand hovering on the door handle. The voice is unmistakably Jason Blossom’s, and it’s a whisper, fervent and urgent.

Cheryl’s honeyed timbre is the reply: “You know that’s never stopped me before.”

Curiosity peaked, Jughead quietly lets the door close behind him and peers around the corner. Cheryl’s leaning back against the metal lockers, staring up at her brother with stars in her eyes. Jason is standing less than a foot away from her, shirtless and towering over his significantly shorter twin. His chest is slick with sweat, and his hair is matted against his face.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. He looks like he’s trying to appear playfully annoyed by her presence, but it isn’t convincing, to Jughead or to Cheryl.

She has her signature cocky smirk on her face. “I just wanted to congratulate my brother on leading the team to victory.”

He mirrors her expression and moves closer, caging her in with a hand on either side of her head. “Better make it quick before someone comes in then.”

He leans forward, but is interrupted as Jughead’s foot bumps into someone’s helmet that they left on the ground, sending it skidding across the floor. The awful screech makes Jughead cringe, and his eyes go wide. He ducks out of sight before the pair whirls around.

“Who’s there?” Jason calls out, his voice pitched a little higher than normal.

Jughead escapes before he can get caught, the door swinging violently on its hinges behind him. He doesn’t think much on what he witnessed, how their words were innocent but they way they looked at each other was anything but. Eventually, he forgets the encounter happened at all. It was his fault for being somewhere he shouldn’t be in the first place, after all.

Come Monday, the picture of Jason holding Cheryl in his arms, the two smiling at each other like they’re the only ones in existence, is plastered across the front page of the Blue and Gold. The caption reads, _“Head cheerleader Cheryl Blossom celebrates the big win with her brother and captain of the Bulldogs, Jason.”_

—

The second time isn’t a case of wrong place, wrong time. At least, not for Jughead.

He decides to spend his lunch in the school newspaper room; he still has some things to wrap up before he can print the next issue. The hallway is completely empty, and it’s quiet, unnaturally so. You could hear a pin drop with perfect clarity, and his footfalls against the tile echo off of the faux brick walls.

When he stops in front of the door to the newspaper room, he can hear a faint giggling coming from inside. Furrowing his brow, he wraps his hand around the door knob and twists. He throws the door open with so much force that it slams against the wall.

He’s greeted by the image of Cheryl sitting on the table with Jason standing in between her legs, resting their foreheads against one another with their fingers intertwined. But in the blink of an eye, they fly apart so fast Jughead thinks he imagined the whole thing. They whip around, startled, to stare at him like a deer caught in headlights. He’s clearly caught them off guard.

He goes still. “Um, hi.” He looks back and forth between the pair. He gets the feeling he’s walked in on something he shouldn’t have. “What are you doing in here?” He doesn’t know why he feels guilty. He works for the paper; they’re the intruders here, not him.

Cheryl’s dark eyes narrow at him until they’re slits. If looks could kill, Jughead would surely be six feet under. “As Blossoms, we were trying to escape the prying eyes of Riverdale High, not that you would know what that’s like,” she spits. “But if we knew we’d be getting a visit from the eternal cesspit of all things gloom and doom today, we wouldn’t have come in.”

She presses her palms flat against the table and slides off in one fluid motion. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the nearly imperceptible movement of Jason wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Cheryl goes over to her brother and grabs him by the hand.

“Come on, JJ. Let’s go before he adds us to his kill list.” She shoulders past Jughead and leads him out of the room, but not before throwing one last deadly glare his way. He knows they’re probably already formulating ways to get back at him for interrupting whatever they were doing with their creepy twin telepathy.

He also doesn’t miss the smudge of ruby red on the back of Jason’s hand as he passes by him on his way out the door.

—

Nobody has fun at school dances.

That’s what Jughead has deduced from going to them over the years. Sure, it’s fun to get dressed up and go out to dinner with your friends, but the actual dances themselves are not fun. They’re always held in some sweaty gymnasium with cheap fairy lights bought from the dollar store haphazardly strung across the ceiling for some semblance of ambiance and a DJ who either plays regurgitated pop songs or music not from their generation. The best part is taking photos at the photo booth, because at least then you have something to take home with you.

The homecoming dance is no different.

Jughead is in attendance with his camera in hand, wearing an ill-fitting blazer from the thrift store and a tie he learned how to tie last minute. He skirts around the perimeter of the dance floor, snapping photos of teens awkwardly dancing or grinding against each other that he knows will be unusable because the flash in the too dark room will give everyone red eye.

It’s not uncommon for the Blossoms to make an appearance at these dances. Actually, it’s expected of them. They both arrive fashionably late with their separate dates (Jason asked Polly, as usual, while Cheryl took Reggie Mantle, God bless her soul), strutting across the gym floor dressed to the nines and putting everyone else to shame. It’s not hard to see why they act so superior when they look like supermodels compared to everyone else. Coming from a wealthy family that pretty much has the entire small town under its thumb probably has something to do with it, too.

For the first couple of songs, they dance with their respective dates, but then it’s like they vanish into thin air. Jughead spots Polly some time later sitting next to Tina Patel and Ginger Lopez on the bleachers. She looks like she’s complaining to them about something, gripping a bundle of wadded up tissues in her fist and dabbing at her ruined mascara. Reggie doesn’t seem nearly as bothered that his date ditched him. He’s chatting enthusiastically with Chuck and Moose by the punch bowl (which there’s no doubt in Jughead’s mind has already been spiked).

He doesn’t know why, but something draws him outside. He steps out into the night air, the slow song playing inside drifting out the doors behind him. A crisp chill distinct only to fall weather hits him. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his pants and hunches his shoulders to protect himself.

He strays a little further from the gym and spies the outline of two figures in the dark. When he meanders a little closer, he can make out two heads of vibrant ginger hair — Cheryl and Jason. It looks like they’re hugging. Cheryl has her arms clasped tightly around his neck, and Jason’s arms are looped firmly around her waist. It’s only when he watches them slowly shift weight from foot to foot that he realizes what they’re _really_ doing.

They’re _dancing._

The music inside is so muffled he alone can hardly hear it, but they sway side to side to the rhythm regardless. They‘re clinging to each other for dear life; a sheet of paper couldn’t fit between their bodies. Jason’s eyes are closed, his chin resting atop his sister’s red hair. Cheryl lays her head on his shoulder, and when the moonlight above hits her face, he can just barely see tear tracks staining her blotchy cheeks. Jughead can’t remember ever seeing Cheryl cry, except for maybe in kindergarten when she would throw tantrums about having to share. But that’s nothing compared to this.

Her chest rises and falls as she lets out a longing sigh, the sound piercing the night. Jason holds her closer. There’s something melancholic and solemn about the intimacy, tender and heartfelt, and he wonders what compelled the twins to sneak out of gym to share a dance away from the “prying eyes,” as Cheryl put it best.

He doesn’t infringe. He slips back into the gym unnoticed, leaving no trace that he had ever been there.

—

His sneaking suspicions are confirmed at the Twilight Drive-In.

However, it’s not like Jughead spends his free time mulling over the peculiar encounters he’s had with the Blossom twins. He has far more important things on his mind than the ongoings of two snooty, rich siblings. The possible reasons and conclusions he could come to for what he’s seen were exiled to the far recesses of his subconscious. But the seeds were planted, and they would come to fruition one night after closing.

It’s typical for kids to loiter in their cars long after the film has come to an end and the credits have stopped rolling, either to get high or finish their heavy petting sessions before they’re forced to slink back off to the everyday boredom of middle-class suburban life. Unfortunately, it falls on Jughead as an employee of the drive-in to kick them out before he can close up.

The lot is completely barren except for a car in the very back row. He silently thanks the heavens it’s only one this time. He grimaces thinking about when he had to break up a party of Serpents and narrowly dodged a glass beer bottle that was chucked at his head. This seems like an easy feat in comparison. He begins to trudge over, his footsteps and the sound of his breathing the only noise in the otherwise quiet lot.

He gets halfway across the lot when he realizes what car it is: a cherry red Impala convertible. The _Blossoms’_ car. Or at least, the car of choice for the family’s two teenage devils. He figures it’s probably Polly and Jason who’ve lost track of time on one of their many outings. Apprehension rises in him. He’s had his fair share of glimpses of teens caught in the throes of passion before. He trusts meek, shrinking violet Polly not to react violently at getting told to leave, but he does not look forward to getting chewed out by Jason Blossom on the other hand.

He cautiously approaches the car, already rolling his eyes. The top is up, and he can sense movement in the backseat. A soft moan floats out of the open window into the dead of night, and he shrinks further into himself like a turtle in its shell. He stops by the front tire and leans over to rap his knuckles against the windshield, preparing himself to launch into the same old lecture.

“Alright, pack it up. It’s thirty minutes past closing,” he recites in droning, monotone speech. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

His eyes lock on the couple in the backseat, and where he expects to see blonde hair, he instead sees red, long, styled curls swishing against a pale back like flames. He draws his brows together, and then the hair whips around to reveal a face: Cheryl Blossom.

His gaze flickers down to the boy’s lap who she’s straddling, and a head pops up — Jason Blossom.

He blinks. He wants to believe he’s seeing things, but there’s no denying that what’s in front of him is really happening. The straps of Cheryl’s tank top are pulled down her shoulders, and her scarlet lipstick is smeared. Jason’s appearance is even more damning: his red hair sticks up in all directions, like someone’s been raking their hands through it; his eyes are half-lidded in rapture; the top buttons of his shirt are undone, exposing more of his ivory flesh; lipstick residue in the shape of kisses has been pressed all over his face and trail down his neck, the same color as Cheryl’s lips. The twins stare back at him with glossy eyes the size of saucers.

They’ve been caught red-handed.

Before Jughead can process what he’s seen or how to react, his feet carry him away. He runs, probably faster than he ever has in his life, and takes shelter in the projection booth. He triple checks the lock on the door and curls up into a ball in the corner, hugging his knees to his chest. He doesn’t know why he expects them to chase after him, but when he hears the rev of an engine and the squeal of tires against gravel tearing out of the lot, he’s assured he’s safe.

The first thing he feels is disgust, ripples of repulsion pulsing through his stomach until he thinks he’s going to vomit on the carpet. He dry heaves, his throat painfully constricting as he retches, but nothing comes up. He wants to pour bleach in his eyes or just gouge them out of his skull. It’s probably a melodramatic physical reaction to what he’s seen, but he can’t help it. It’s vile, deplorable, condemnable, straight up wrong.

Then, the little things start to click into place as he lays back against the cot that’s his pathetic excuse for a bed and stares up at the popcorned ceiling. Things like when Cheryl and Jason whined and complained about not being able to be in the same cabin at sleep away camp. Or when Jason “proposed” to her with a ring pop in third grade. Or any of the things he’s witnessed within the past few months. It was so, so easy to just write it off it as creepy, sibling closeness when in actuality it was something much, much more sinister.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to force the image of Cheryl perched on top of her twin out of his head, or the echo of the moan that rang out before it. It isn’t long before sleep clearly isn’t presenting itself as an option tonight and he gets up, grabs his rusty, old bike, and opts for a night ride around the streets of Riverdale instead.

It doesn’t exactly help take his mind off of what he saw. Far from it, in fact; it just gives him more time and space to think. There’s nothing but street lamps and the stars above to light his way, and the bike creaks and wobbles unsteadily under his weight. Cookie cutter houses and manicured lawns and white picket fences rush by him in a kaleidoscopic blur of color.

Now, he gets to the question as to why — and this is the hard part, because he struggles to come up with an explanation as his feet pump the petals and his knuckles tighten on the handlebars and the wind rushes around him and the gears whir at an alarming rate. Why? What could drive you to do something so horrid, so fowl, so immoral, so despicable? He’s flying so fast now that if a car were to come out of no where, he wouldn’t be able to break in time and would go rolling over the windshield.

Then, he thinks about the family they come from. Cliff and Penelope Blossom are well known for being cruel and ruthless, and he doubts their children are an exception to the rule. He imagines Cheryl and Jason as children, frightened, subjected to the horrors of Thornhill day in and day out with no one to look after them except for each other. All of the pressure that is put on them to live up to the Blossom family name. Parents like those could take anything good and twist it into venom and vitriol, into something to be tortured with, he’s sure of it. Could he really blame them for seeking solace in the only other people who understand fully what they’re going through — each other?

And the stony facades and fake personas they’ve carefully crafted. They way they keep everyone at a distance with their snarky remarks and taunting jokes, because if anyone was to get too close, their personal slice of heaven, the only thing they hold dear, is put in danger. He thinks about how it must feel not to be able to hold your loved one’s hand in public, to have to sneak away to locker rooms, abandoned classrooms, and rundown drive-ins if only for a moment of deprived affection, to slow dance outside in the dark out of fear, to never have a sense of normalcy or a certain future. It’s sad. It’s tragic, really.

Then, it’s the matter of what to do about it. He briefly considers writing about what he’s seen in the Blue and Gold to get back at them. He imagines the headline _“Incestual Twins Get Hot and Heavy at the Drive-In”_ splashed across the front page in big, bold letters, and a small smile comes to his face. It would serve them right, after all, for the way they’ve treated everyone in this town. But he decides he’s had enough of the theatrics for an evening and scraps the idea.

Riverdale is a town riddled with secrets, and at times it feels like Jughead’s cross to bear alone to be the sole keeper of all of them. Sometimes, he wants nothing more than to run away, to chase after his mom and Jellybean. It’s not like his presence would be missed. He doesn’t really know why he stays in the first place. He’s an outsider in his own home. He thinks about how it doesn’t really matter whether you’re the homeless son of an alcoholic gang leader or the heirs to a massive family fortune, you’re unhappy and unsatisfied anyway, and he wants to laugh like it’s some sort of joke, but he’s too out of breath.

By the time the sun rises, he knows what he wants to do.

The sky is a pretty shade of pale periwinkle at dawn, a thin band of red at the horizon marking where the earth meets the sky. Jughead has the decency to go back to the drive-in for at least a change of clothes before he goes to school with an empty stomach and bags under his eyes.

His stomach is in knots. The anticipation is slowly eating at him, and he chews his nails to the quick. He makes eye contact with Polly in the halls and he feels even worse. He didn’t even think about Polly, sweet, shy, clueless Polly with her blonde ponytail and River Vixens uniform. She’s the safe choice, an easy cover. She’s a nice girl, always bubbly and cheery with a positive attitude, if not a little naive and air-headed. It must’ve been all too easy for Jason to swoop in like a knight in shining armor and sweep her off her feet. He doubts she has even the slightest inkling as to Jason’s ulterior motives. She’s so oblivious, she probably has no idea what she’s gotten herself into, the poor girl.

Polly smiles brightly as she passes him and waves. It takes everything in him to wave back and not burst into tears on the spot.

After what feels like decades of tapping his sneaker against the tile floor and listening to the ticking hands on the clock on the wall, he musters up the courage to corner Jason before lunch. He figures it’s a wiser choice to approach him instead of the red-headed, ill-tempered succubus that is his sister. Jason’s more likely to hear him out and more levelheaded.

Jughead catches up to him after class before his jock buddies have the chance to swarm him and whisk him off to the cafeteria. He’s suddenly feeling very timid, but eager more than anything else to get this over with. “Uh, Jason,” his voice sounds uncharacteristically small, “can I talk to you?”

Jason’s eyes land on him, and his square jaw clenches. He wraps his fingers around his arm like a vice and hauls him off to the nearest men’s restroom. Jughead knows better than to resist and goes along with it. Jason lets go of him once they’re inside and checks to make sure they’re alone. When he’s assured they are, he turns back to him with his arms crossed over his chest.

“What do you want?” he grunts, low and rough.

Jughead rubs the arm Jason used to drag him here, positive he’ll find bruises there later. “I just wanted to let you know that... I’m not going to tell anyone.” He swallows roughly. “About what I saw.”

In a flash, Jason has a grip on the collar of Jughead’s t-shirt and slams his back against the tiled wall. “Oh, yeah?” He grits his teeth. “And what’s it gonna cost to buy your silence?”

Jughead’s hands reflexively go to the one digging into his shirt, but he doesn’t fight back. “Nothing. I’m not gonna hold it against you or use it as leverage or anything, I swear.” After all, who would he tell? And without hard proof, who would believe him? The worst he could do was stir up rumors, but the rumor mill has a field day with the Blossom twins as it is.

The fire in Jason’s eyes dulls, and his hold on his shirt loosens. He rescinds him from his grip and takes a step back to give him room. “Why should I believe you?”

Jughead scratches the back of his neck. “Because... I understand it.” He holds his hands up, quick to clarify, “I’m not saying I approve or accept it. God knows I can’t, but...” He drops his arms at his sides. “I understand.”

Jason’s face softens. He looks a tad more relieved. Still rigid and cautious, but it makes Jughead feel good to know he’s eased a little bit of the burden on his shoulders. “Thank you, Jughead,” he utters so quietly the words are barely audible.

He nods in return. “Although, it would be nice if you found someone else to pick on from time to time,” he adds. Hopefully, he’s not pushing his luck.

The corners of Jason’s mouth turn upwards in the ghost of a smile. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Jughead’s ears prick at the click clack of stiletto heels getting louder as they draw closer, and both boys’ heads spin to see Cheryl follow them into the bathroom. “JJ, are you in here?” She stops short when she notices Jughead and strikes a defensive stance. “Listen here, Edward Scissorhands. If you even think about—”

“Cheryl,” Jason cuts her off, and Jughead muses that he’s probably the only person who can get away with that and live. “It’s okay. We worked it out. He’s not going to tell anyone.” He shoots him a pointed look.

Jughead nods in confirmation. Cheryl stands down, seeming at least placated enough to not rip him to shreds with her claws. Jason takes his hand in hers, and they exchange a look. It’s obvious to him now, the way their eyes light up when they look at each other.

He can’t resist the urge to get at least one barb in. “Can I recommend that next time you go to the drive-in, you’re a little more aware of your surroundings? Or at least wear a watch?”

Cheryl wordlessly flips him off with the hand that’s not holding Jason’s. They leave the bathroom first, Jason throwing him one last grateful look over his shoulder. Jughead lets out a heavy sigh and slides down the wall once they’re out of sight, satisfied that he made the right call.

—

He comes across the photo he took at that football game a while later when he’s starting his exposé on the secret ongoings of Riverdale. It’s a little faded from time and creased with wear and tear, but the effervescent smiles on their faces and the shine in their eyes are as clear as day. He’s slightly ashamed when he finds himself blinking back tears, but he’s happy that he’s at least preserved this moment and frozen it in time.

The painful realization that Cheryl has lost her soulmate, her other half hits him like a punch to the gut. In his mind’s eye, he can see the two red-headed twins strolling alongside the riverbank of Sweetwater River hand in hand, their fair skin glowing from the rays of sun. The chirping of birds flitting through the trees and the peaceful lull of the tranquil, cerulean waters fill the air. Jason leans down to kiss her, and Cheryl rises on the tips of her toes to meet him halfway, blissfully unaware that it’s going to be her last.

He makes another decision to omit what he knows.


End file.
